The brief flare of light in Antoinette’s eyes dimmed. “He was, without a doubt, the handsomest man in Sussex. And now he’s the handsomest widower in Sussex, though much good that will do me. When I admired the cut of his gib, so to speak, he told me, quite kindly, that if he had a penchant for golden-haired women, he’d find me irresistible. It was a very respectful letdown, but a letdown nonetheless.”
“That’s a strange thing to say since Dorothea was golden-haired.” Fanny glanced up from her needlework to add, “Poor Dorothea. How sad that the doctor could only save the babe who, of course, would be a year now. Time flies! And how much can change in a year, for Mr Wells did once have a reputation for being the most faithful of husbands.” Resting the needle threaded with lilac silk on its hardanger backing, she added thoughtfully, “I wonder what could have happened for him to have changed so.”
“Perhaps I could find out.” Antoinette’s vivacity had returned. “The gossip sheets were filled with his exploits with Lady Banks and then Mrs Compton for months. But all that was some time ago so no doubt he’s missing feminine company. Perhaps Mr Wells is just the antidote I need—"
“No, Antoinette!” Fanny admonished her. “Give the man some peace. Until the duel, and then Mrs Compton naming him as the father of her unborn child, Mr Wells had a reputation as a man of honour and integrity. Undoubtedly, he fell into bad company after Dorothea died--”
“Yes, that must have been wonderfully refreshing for him and I’m sure that I—”
Fanny wagged her finger at her sister. “No, Antoinette! I do not suggest you tempt him with whatever you might have up your sleeve. If you invite him when Lady Indigo is here you will still have to entertain her at unfashionable hours around the clock.”
“Can’t you entertain her and I’ll entertain Mr Wells?”
“No! Lady Indigo is your guest—or, rather, Quamby’s—and I think it’s time you lived up to your responsibilities. But I have a better idea than the schemes you obviously are cooking up. Tell me, what do you enjoy more than furthering your own amours?”
Antoinette looked at her blankly.
“Matchmaking!” Fanny supplied. “Why don’t you invite Mr Wells and some worthy, unmarried young lady here? The kind of young lady who would drag him out of the doldrums, or bad company, or whatever it is that is the source of his troubles.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’s been in the doldrums for one minute since poor Dorothea died! God rest her soul, of course! Anyone could see he and Dorothea were patently unsuited.” Antoinette studied the half-moons of her right hand. “Do you know that when I asked him at his wife’s funeral what he intended to do now, he told me he was leaving for France the next day as he had to…” she nibbled her fingernail as she recalled the conversation, “find someone.”
“What? A woman? I don’t think so,” Fanny remarked.
“Yes, a woman! He said he was off to search the length and breadth of England to find his brown-haired girl.”
“Well, obviously he didn’t find her.” Fanny wrinkled her brow in thought. “But he certainly couldn’t have been too brokenhearted considering those scandals he courted on his return!” Changing the thread from lilac to lavender, she added, “Or maybe it was because he was brokenhearted. Anyway, if his actions this past year are anything to go by, Sebastian Wells needs a steadying influence: a sweet young woman to take as his wife and to keep him in good order. And you can help him do that, Antoinette. Why, you’d enjoy it!”
Antoinette sank onto the chaise longue by the window and tucked her legs beneath her. “Matchmaking? It would certainly be better than having to assist old Lady Indigo into her seat, and turning a blind eye to the old crone dribbling into her porridge each morning,” she agreed. “And you promise you’d stay here with me at Quamby House?”
Fanny smiled. “I wouldn’t miss your famous Yuletide celebrations for anything. Besides, the townhouse renovations are taking longer than we’d expected so it would suit Fenton and me very well. And I’ve just had a marvelous thought. Do you remember that young lady who scandalized everyone by reneging on her understanding with Lord Yarrowby for no better reason than she now thought him dreary?”
“Miss Arabella Reeves?”
“That’s right! Well, her aunt, Lady March, was telling me that Arabella was such an obedient girl until four months ago when she attended some ramshackle house party where her head was turned by someone quite unsuitable—”
“She sounds like a girl after my own heart,” Antoinette interrupted, and Fanny was glad to see her sister’s peevish look replaced by the sparkling vivacity most often whipped up by intrigue.
“And who was this unsuitable gentleman?” Antoinette asked, but Fanny could only shake her head and say, “I have no idea. But Lady March has been accommodating Arabella these past two months since she ran away from her father’s house, and keeping as close an eye on her as she is able.” She sighed. “Though I don’t know how successfully, for there is no telling how inventive a highly strung young lady can be when her heart is set on someone entirely unsuitable. Unsuitable in that old Mr Reeves won’t consent to the match for his heart has been set on Yarrowby for his daughter these past five years. And now poor Lady March has been unwell, laid low with an inflammation of the lung—”
“Then it is settled!”
“What is?”
“We shall invite both handsome, widowed Mr Wells who is looking for a second wife, and Miss Reeves, who is searching for someone more exciting than dreary Lord Yarrowby to marry—”
“Though I would hardly call Lord Yarrowby dull,” Fanny corrected her. “He’s a steady, steadfast young man who would make a flighty girl like Arabella the perfect husband if only—”
“If only he loved her for herself, and she loved him. But clearly he does not.” Antoinette rose, throwing her arms wide as she contemplated the room. “And we shall have boughs of holly and mistletoe strung across the mantelpiece and from wall to wall. You will help me with the decorations, won’t you, Fanny darling?”
Relieved that her sister was warming to the idea with such enthusiasm, Fanny set aside her embroidery to stand beside Antoinette. “Yes, let’s arrange for the mistletoe to be collected and the invitations to go out, right now, don’t you agree? The season for making merry and matching hearts is upon us. And the sooner we find a wife for handsome Sebastian Wells, the more likely we are to save him from any more sin and vice and all the other evils that are so contrary to his true nature.”
Antoinette stopped her sister with a frown. “Why Fanny, you talk like vice is a bad thing. Goodness! I don’t think life would be tolerable without it.”
“But dearest, it’s not vice if it’s sanctioned by your husband,” Fanny tried to explain. “And it doesn’t make everyone as happy as you. Certainly not those who have always been exemplified by upstanding reputations and pristine consciences…like Mr Wells.”
Antoinette continued to gaze around the room, clearly more invested in how it might look lit up with a thousand wax candles reflected upon dozens of glittering ballgowns, rather than how her sister’s words reflected on herself. “We shall send out the invitations today!” she declared. “And Mr Wells and Miss Reeves will be the first people that we invite!” She turned shining eyes toward her sister, all trace of her earlier despondency now replaced by the prospect ahead of her: of uniting two worthy hearts.